


Hummed Low

by Gemi



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Dragon Age x Witcher x TMNT, F/M, Kappa Donatello, Pre-Romance, Witcher Jhanna, because why not, half elf half human Jhanna
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5638147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemi/pseuds/Gemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Kappa bit his lip and stayed where he was. They stared at each other for a while, at a standstill. The bandage on her shoulder had begun to color slightly. He cleared his throat.</p><p>“Do you need help?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He had only meant to go and pick some herbs.  
  
It wasn’t unusual. And as long as he only did it at night, his father never tried to stop him. Night was safe, where his green skin easily melted into the shadows and dark greenery and slippery rocks. Sometimes even his brothers tagged along, but then everything was always a bit louder. And Donatello hadn’t _wanted_ loud now. He had only wanted some peace, to find some herbs to study and maybe use.  
So few came by during the day, even less during the night.  
  
Which was why the firelight had been a surprise.  
  
Donatello had frozen on the spot, halfway through the process of picking some blood lotus from the lake’s more shallow parts. The fire was well hidden, to have let him come so close without seeing it- but now when he saw it, it was unmistakeable. Orange light flickering against rocks. If he listened closely, Donatello could even hear wood crack and burn.  
  
He should have turned back. Should have slipped back into the water and swam back home, away from whatever creature had decided to start a fire near their lake.  
  
But Donatello was curious.  
  
And so he snuck out of the water. Put down his worn and threadbare bag, just in case, and snuck closer.  
  
He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected to find; maybe some curious youngsters, maybe vagabonds or perhaps a lost merchant.  
But when Donatello had peeked into the small campsite so carefully hidden between the rocks and the little alcove they made, he saw none of those.  
  
Instead he saw an injured woman.  
  
Donatello blinked. Stared in confusion at her, still hiding behind rocks and bushes. She seemed tall for a woman, but it was hard to tell. Laying down as she was, curled up near the fire, maybe she looked bigger than she was. Maybe she looked smaller. Donatello wasn’t sure, because he had so rarely seen humans.  
  
What he did know was that she had fresh bandage around her waist and shoulder. Her hair was dark, shimmering blue like magpie wings in the fire light, and neatly braided into multiple cornrows. She had tough leather pants on, with travel worn boots and by her side lay two swords.  
  
Two?  
  
Donatello frowned. Snuck a bit closer, too curious for second thoughts. But yes, there were indeed _two_ swords next to her. He eyed them, confused and curious, before he flicked his eyes back to her. She appeared muscular, with a few pale scars here and there against her dark skin. And she wore a strange medallion that seemed to be made of silver. It almost looked like a stylized version of a beast of some kind.  
  
He turned his eyes towards her face.  
  
And was startled to see golden eyes staring back.  
  
Donatello yelped and fell back, all sneakiness gone in a flash when he landed in the bush behind him. Twigs broke, leafs rattled loudly and he groaned as his head bounced against hard ground.  
  
He laid there for a while. The Kappa didn’t dare to move, because he hurt- if only a little- and because the golden eyes had been the final clue.  
  
The injured woman was a _Witcher_. The boogeyman of his father’s stories. Humans, elves, dwarves and even Qunari whose only goal was to kill anything that they saw as monsters. Like Kappas. Like Donatello.  
  
But as he laid there waiting for his demise, nothing happened. The night continued to be silent, the fire continued to crackle beyond the rocks. No silversword or even one of steel came crashing down, no fierce spell burnt or trapped him.  
There was only silence. And a rock digging against the back of his head.  
  
So eventually Donatello got off his shell and back up. He peeked over the rocks once more, eyes wide and if he was able to sweat, he would have been doing so. But as before, the woman simply laid there. No, sat. She was sitting up now, her eyes wary as she watched him as carefully as he watched her.  
  
It was possible she was too hurt to harm him. It was possible she knew he was more harmless than most creatures. He had no idea, and if his father was there he would likely have picked Donatello up by the rim of his shell and run away from the Witcher. But it was only Donatello and his own, damning curiosity.  
  
He cautiously climbed the rocks. Slipped down and landed on the edge of the light from the fire. The woman had tensed up, her eyes narrowed. Her pupils looked like a feline’s, like Mikey’s little Klunk whenever the light was just a little too dim. Donatello swallowed back his fear and took a step into the light.  
  
She made no move towards her swords. She did, however, raise one hand in warning. Even from this distance, he could see her fingertips heat up like embers.  
  
The Kappa bit his lip and stayed where he was. They stared at each other for a while, at a standstill. The bandage on her shoulder had begun to color slightly. He cleared his throat.  
  
“Do you need help?”  
  
She frowned.  
  
“Excuse me?” she asked, and she had an accent unlike any he had ever heard.  
  
“Do you need help?” Donatello repeated. Tugged lightly at the bracelet on his wrist, as threadbare as his bag from how much he pulled on it when he was nervous. “I have herbs. Elfroot. Um, stuff like that. Even spindleweed! And, and some fresh blood lotus and-” he shut up, suddenly too aware of his own rambling. He felt his cheeks turn dark green.  
  
“What is the price?”  
  
He blinked, startled, and looked back up. The woman had tilted her head now, and he caught a glimpse of a pointed ear. Not a human then, but she was too big to be pure elf- perhaps a half-breed?  
  
“Sorry?” he dared to ask.  
  
“What is the price of your help, Kappa?” She sat up straight now, one hand resting against her bandaged waist, her other used as support against the ground. “Your kind does not help freely.”  
  
“Um.” Donatello blinked once more. He could tell her it was a lie, that his family had often helped others without demanding payment. But her golden eyes and pointy ears had him curious.  
  
“Can you tell me stories?” he blurted out. Her eyebrows rose high, and he hurried to explain, “I would like to hear of your travels. And what it’s like, being a W-Wi… Wi-Witcher. I don’t often get to speak with anyone of your kind- Witcher or… human, or elf. Anyone who isn’t my family, to be honest, and perhaps Leatherhead, but he isn’t all that good with long sentences yet.”  
  
She seemed to consider him for a moment. Finally, she nodded.  
  
“You will have your stories. I assume you do not carry the herbs within your shell?”  
  
“What? Oh, no, no, I don’t,” Donatello assured her, and he took a careful step back. “I left my bag a short way off. I’ll get it, and be right back.”  
  
“And you will not tell your family of me?” she wondered, voice sharp with unspoken warning. He shook his head.  
  
“No, of course not. Father would- well, he wouldn’t be happy. I apologize. I will be right back, ma’am.” He gave a quick bow and climbed back over the rocks. He went as fast as he could, nearly skidding on the muddied sand. The bag was grabbed, and he stuffed some more blood lotus within it before he hurried back.  
  
The Witcher had moved to lean against the wall the rocks created. Her eyes were half-closed when he returned, opening fully when he slowly dared to come closer.  
Despite the fact that he was a Kappa and had seen many other creatures, the eyes unnerved him. Perhaps it was because he knew a normal person didn’t have them. Perhaps it was him subconsciously remembering the stories his father always told them when they were little, of yellow eyes and slit pupils that could see even a Kappa in muddied waters.  
He shivered, but Donatello’s curiosity was stubborn. He found himself by her side, and the Kappa was careful as he slowly brought out the herbs and laid them on a flattened rock near her. He didn’t want to be burnt by her spells simply because he had moved too quickly, nor did he want to brush against the silver sword that was too close for comfort. Even from where he sat, he could feel the itch that came with silver’s presence.  
  
“Alright,” Donatello said once he had the most important herbs out. “Do you want me to inspect both wounds, or just your shoulder?”  
  
“Shoulder,” she said, and when he hesitated, she smiled wryly at him. “I won’t harm you, Kappa. Not when your price for help is so modest.”  
  
He smiled nervously.  
  
“You can call me Donatello,” he said, and slowly unwrapped the bandages. Blood ran sluggishly down her shoulder, led astray by a scar that seemed like it had come from a vicious claw. It was not too bad, simply in a bad spot for her to attend properly. “Do you have anything I can sew this shut with?”  
  
“Yes. In my bag, there is a small, green case. There are thread and needle within.” She leaned her head back, eyes tracking his movements. She appeared tired and Donatello suspected that if he hadn’t been of monsterkind, the Witcher would have closed her eyes by now.  
  
So he nodded and dug through the bag, his curiosity only burning brighter as he pushed aside knickknacks that seemed to be magical, or little things that she had brought from other lands. There was even a thick book in the bottom where he found the green case- it took tremendous willpower for the Kappa to not snatch the book instead, bleeding wound or no.  
But Donatello pulled the case out and prepared the needle and thread. It was difficult, her tools not made for a Kappa’s three fingered hands, or the claws that came with. And yet, soon enough he had begun to sew her skin shut.  
  
It was odd, working on such thin and smooth skin. He was used to his family’s leather, how he had to use thicker needles than the one in his hand to sew wounds shut. At least the Witcher didn’t whine and complain like his brothers.  
Of course, Donatello was uncertain if the eerie staring was any better.  
  
“Donatello is an odd name for a Kappa,” the Witcher said when he finished.  
  
“You spoke to many Kappas?” he asked, and had to resist the urge to grimace and apologize. His tone had been rude, but her lips merely twitched into that wry smile once more.  
  
“No,” she said, “This is a first. But your kind hail from Qunari lands and beyond. I would have imagined your name be more like theirs, or perhaps simpler. Such as this Leatherhead you spoke of.”  
  
“Leatherhead isn’t a Kappa,” Donatello said, and he didn’t know if he was supposed to feel insulted or amused at the idea of such simple names. So he leaned back instead, away from the silversword, and met her eerie eyes. “And my brother isn’t good at naming things. I would tell you their names too, but I’m afraid my father would be beyond displeased.”  
  
“And yet, you told me yours.”  
  
“It felt odd to be called Kappa,” he admitted and applied elfroot to the bandages as he began to wrap them around her shoulder. “My name is Donatello, not my species.”  
  
“I see. Then you may call me Jhanna, Donatello, instead of Witcher.”  
  
“Jhanna?” he asked, and Donatello tasted the name, tried it out. “It fits you. Witcher Jhanna.”  
  
She huffed a laugh and leaned away from him, and Donatello obediently retreated. The bandages were wrapped properly now, and her eyes were still eerie. It made no sense to linger so close.  
  
“I am glad you approve, Kappa Donatello. Now, I believe you wished for stories as payment?”  
  
Donatello nodded and grinned excitedly.  
It earned him another laugh.  
  
He wasn’t quite sure why the sound of Jhanna laughing made him feel warm, but he didn’t want to question it. Not when her eyes shone in the firelight as she began to tell tales of past battles against creatures he had never even heard of.  
  
He stayed until the sun rose.  
  
And the night after, he returned.


	2. Chapter 2

“I thought Witchers healed faster than normal people?” Donatello asked two nights later. 

The words slipped past his lips before he could stop them. His eyes widened and Donatello bit at his bottom lip to prevent any more of them from escaping. The kappa snuck a nervous glance at her, his hands still steadily working on re-wrapping the wound despite his sudden nervosity.   
Jhanna merely tilted her head, braids falling over her shoulder. 

“We do,” she said. Her lips quirked, the golden cat eyes shining with amusement at how the kappa was clearly attempting to stay silent. His mouth often got away from him, his curiosity too big to be contained. But she rarely seemed annoyed, and for that Donatello was grateful. “But like all creatures, certain oils and poisons work better against a Witcher than they would against something so small as you. Wolfsbane oil is more suited when fighting werewolves, spectre oils better for spirits.”   
  
Donatello blinked. He straightened at that, curiosity once more making him prod where he should instead turn away. Donnie was fairly sure he didn’t imagine the way her smile widened.

“I didn’t know that,” he said, excited, “how do you make concoctions like that? Against Witchers?” 

The Witcher raised one brow. 

“I do not believe I will tell you,” she told him, “Why would I tell you of my kind’s weakness, little one?” 

Donatello deflated. He sighed, and bit back the temptation to point out how  _ she _ knew all of  _ his _ kind’s weaknesses. After all, it was her profession to know. He was only a Kappa. A harmless creature that sometimes happened to share the same space as drowners and water hags. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. Gently finished wrapping the new bandages, and he leaned away to meet those strange eyes. “I just wish to know…  _ more _ . So, the one who harmed you- they used a poison to do so?”

Jhanna watched him for a moment. The fire crackled beside them, and Donatello could feel his cheeks darken as the stare continued for longer than he had thought. Finally she hummed an affirmative and leaned back against the rock. 

“Yes. Another Witcher named Moriah is the cause of it.”

“ _ Another _ Witcher? Why would they do that?” he incredulously asked.

“I challenged her to a duel,” Jhanna replied. Donatello gaped at her. She let out a heavy sigh, brows furrowing. “I did not believe she would dishonor herself so, but the battle which was meant to merely decide who became the leader of our School, instead turned to dirty tricks and an attempt at murder.” 

Donatello considered this for a moment, eyes flickering towards her swords, before back to her medallion. Silver, with the ornate design of a cat in it, and he frowned in confusion.

“Why would you fight? If you are part of the same School, could you not decide who rules it more… peacefully?”

“No. Perhaps with another I could have- but Moriah did not want to give up easily.” Jhanna sighed, cat eyes looking into the fire. So Donatello watched her. Took in the way the firelight framed her face, her high cheekbones. The full lips and dark skin. The way Jhanna’s braids had begun to come undone. His fingers twitched, and Donnie wondered if he would be allowed to rebraid them. If his claws would even be able to handle it.

“A Witcher School is not supposed to have a leader,” Jhanna said then, and Donatello quickly averted his eyes when she looked back at him, “We are a School. Training orphans, preparing them for the mutations needed to make them Witchers… the only leaders we ever had, Donatello, is the old teachers who felt no more need to go out and hunt. Moriah changed those things, and for fifty years now the School of Cats have gained a bad reputation. I could not stand it anymore- and Moriah refused to yield.”

She smiled, then, but it was bitter. Not the amused quirk of lips Donatello was so used to.

“As she refused to fight honorably.”

“... did you know her well?” Donnie dared to ask. “If you were of the same… School, did you not then train together?”

“We did.”

The Kappa tilted his head.

“Grow up together?”

Jhanna met his eyes. 

“Yes,” she said, “I saw her as a sister.”

Sister.

Donatello thought back to his family. Tried to imagine it, fighting to kill one of his brothers. Having one of them trying to kill  _ him _ .   
He couldn’t.  
The idea was too strange for him, and it was a difficult concept to grasp. Donnie felt confused, bewildered. 

For once, a little bit angry.

“Do you still plan to fight her?” Donatello asked, and when he looked back at Jhanna, he caught her looking away from him. “Even though she used tricks to win?”

Jhanna scowled. It made her look fierce and grumpy all at once, and this time Donatello had to bite his bottom lip to avoid a nervous laugh slipping out. She looked  _ endearing _ , a word he never thought he would use on anyone but his own family. She vaguely reminded him of Raph, of how grumpy his brother could be when his pride was bruised.

“She did not  _ win _ , Donatello. This is merely a break in our duel. If she believes she have won, no doubt all of the Hinterlands would know by now.”

“Well…” 

Jhanna narrowed her eyes. Donatello inched away, but she grasped at his arm before he could get too far. 

“What,” she said, voice flat. The Kappa tried to squirm out of her hold; but she was stronger than him, no doubt faster as well. Even injured, he had no doubt she could overpower him with little effort.

“The- ah, the nearby village. There is a girl there who often visit us,” He said, avoiding her stare. “She told us about some rumors she heard. Before I found you.” 

“What do these rumors say?”

“Uh.”

“Donatello,” she said, voice sharp. The Kappa swallowed nervously.

“Well, they imply that you are, ah, dead. If I understood them correctly? Apparently a Witcher visited the neighboring village’s inn and celebrated winning a duel.” He flushed dark green. “I did not put together the pieces until now. You did not  _ tell _ me until now. I believed it was a beast, possible the High Dragon, that had injured you.”

There was silence, then. The fire crackled beside them but there were no words.  
Finally Jhanna gave his arm a last squeeze before she let him go. Donatello inched a bit away, narrowly avoiding touching the silver sword. His hand itched at its proximity, but he did not move further away. He merely watched her, weary yet concerned.

Jhanna’s eyes reflected the firelight. She did not look at him. Instead her eyes rested on her swords. There was something tense in her face. Despite her harsh reaction before, Donatello found himself speaking up once more.

“You…. won’t do anything harsh, will you?”

The Witcher’s eyes were sharp when she looked back at him. She furrowed her brows.

“Why do you ask?” 

“Because I care,” he said. Paused as he realized what he had  _ said _ . Donatello covered his mouth with one hand and felt his face heat. He looked back at her, embarrassed, but the embarrassment turned into fascination.

Jhanna looked shocked.

Her lips were parted, her eyes wide as she stared at him. His blush only grew more intense as the stare did not waver.  
But he lowered his hand. Leaned further in, because he was  _ curious _ . He had not known she could look like this. That Jhanna could look  _ normal _ , shocked but in a way he had seen his family be. This was not the Witcher he had grown to respect and be wary of. This was-

“Why?” she asked. Her voice was harsh, but for once Donatello was not fooled.

He dared to smile. 

“I don’t know,” Donnie softly replied. “But I do.” 

They stayed so for a long time. Merely staring, their sides warmed by the fire. He could hear frogs croak in the background. Birds settling down in the branches above.

For the first time, Jhanna was the one to look away first.

They didn’t speak more that night; but as always, Donatello returned the next one.

This time he was greeted with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> As for why I did such a crossover AU; I know far more about the Dragon Age world than I do of the Witcher world, but I'm very fond of the idea of so many monsters and the Witcher clans that hunt them. So, I merely added a few extra monsters and the Witchers to the DA world.
> 
> Not quite sure if I will write more on this. Either way, I hope it was to your liking <3


End file.
